


Figuring Out

by Auty_Ren



Series: Waiting Up [8]
Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Choking, Cum Play, Dirty Talk, Dry Humping, F/M, Fluff, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Mentions of Death, Muffling, Smut, brat taming, dom/sub elements, flashbacks to previous events in the series, fully clothed mando/naked reader, mando being vulnerble for once in his life, themes of panic/anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29850669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auty_Ren/pseuds/Auty_Ren
Summary: Mando has a few things he’d like to talk through while you’re both taking a break on Nevarro. Talking has never been his strong suit, but he does make a few points.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/You
Series: Waiting Up [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834378
Comments: 8
Kudos: 83





	Figuring Out

**Author's Note:**

> I’m so excited where this story is going, not as much steamy stuff in this one but the next is gonna make up for it! Enjoy babes. 
> 
> -indicates a flashback/memory-
> 
> Come say hi on my tumblr: @auty-ren

Nevarro stinks.

Bad like a gnawing, disgusting, smell that burns in your nostrils and leaves your eyes watery.

Blinking hurts, your eyes completely raw and stinging from the dense, grey fog that seemed to encapsulate the planet’s surface. You rub the heel of your palm into tired eyes, trying for the hundredth time to dull the ache sitting behind your eyelids.

-“I don’t care who it is, you pull that trigger.” Mando was dead serious, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking away from him. “You end it, then and there.”-

You were getting really tired of the voice in your head, hours after the fact but everything was still crowding at the forefront of your mind.

-

Mando is the only thing that breaks the silence ringing in your ears. He sounds so faint, muffled with every word he spoke. Nothing he said distracted you, nothing broke the train of your eyes looking down at the intruder; wanting to scream and spit in his face for doing something so stupid, for ever thinking of breaking into what little of a home you had.

Mando puts himself between the two of you, taking the blaster from your hands and tossing it aside. You don't even realize you had been crying till you see the distorted reflection of yourself in his beskar; tears drying and with fresh ones streaming down your cheeks.

You feel angry. Proper anger, the kind that made everything hot and uncomfortable and would make you do just about anything for it to stop.

Mando puts his hand on your arm and it feels like he set you on fire, burning you through the leather of his gloves. You jerk away and pull your face into a snarl, warning him to not touch you again through a broken voice.

“No,” When you try to look behind him he blocks your view, “Don't look.”

He turns you and guides you up to the cockpit, giving no room for argument but you're too tired to care anyway.

“Go to the cockpit and wait for me,” He watches you climb the ladder, standing at the bottom, right behind you to make sure you do as he says.

Mando only takes a moment. You hear the ramps release fully, followed by the thudding of weight as he drags it across the floor. He cleans up as if this is every day, another hurdle in the life of a vagabond Bounty Hunter.

You start to feel sick as Mando takes his seat, starting the takeoff with the engines roaring to life, the layers of snow covering the cockpit sliding down the glass of the windshield as he pilots through the atmosphere.

“Get some sleep.” Mando orders over his shoulder, messing with the dials in the navigation system.

You don't sleep.

-

Mando never leaves any room for argument, not with you at least. You like to imagine he isn't so much of a hard-ass to everyone, not like you were an exception to anything Mando did. Everyone on Nevarro seemed to know him, some backing away as soon as they noticed and others putting on the fake charm; sticky sweet-talk any slimy, underbelly merchant would use to try and convince you to sell your soul away.

Kiss ass

Maybe you shouldn't be so harsh, but you just wished it could be quiet. No noise, no crowds, no annoying yellow sun that made your eyes wanna pulse right out of your skull. You'd feel like crying again if you didn't think you’d fall over from the effort. Your movements are weighted, heavy footsteps that were a little uneasy, and had Mando checking over his shoulder to make sure you still followed him.

You don’t even notice where he’s leading you, you don’t have enough energy to care. All of this city looks the same. The same dusty streets, the same grey walls, the same nasty and undesirable clientele of the bounty hunter’s guild. After all your time in the outer rim, you’d like to think nothing phased you, but you were definitely wrong about that.

Mando stops at an open booth in the bazaar, talking to a Twi’lek sitting behind the table. He throws down a couple of credits, and the Twi’lek hands him a data stick, gesturing lazily to his right, in the direction you need to go.

The hallway is small, barely wide enough for Mando to walk through with you trailing behind him. You pass a series of doors, all counting down with each one you pass. You can hear voices behind some of them, muffled words, and alien languages spoken barely loud enough for you to hear. Mando stops in front of one of them, stained with rust or at least what you hoped wasn’t blood.

He uses the data stick in his hand on the panel attached to it, the door slides open with a groan and he nudges you inside.

There was a simple bed, big enough for the two of you, neatly made with worn, clean sheets that were almost threadbare. At the foot was a chair, turned to face the bed and pushed against the far wall. The only light coming from a dirty, tinted skylight in the middle of the ceiling. It was plainly decorated, the same dull, grey everything on Nevarro was made of; just a small table with a few holos next to the bedside and a stool that sat in the corner.

“It’s not much,” Mando comments, the door closing behind him. “But it’s the best you’ll find here.”

You don’t even wait for him to say it, you climb onto the rickety bed and lay your face into the pillow. You stretch your legs, taking up as much space as you could with the relief of finally sleeping in a real bed.

You hear Mando say something but it’s lost, your mind already shutting down as you settled among the sheets.

-

You can hear the distinct click of the lock opening, the metallic scrape of the door opening followed by Mando’s footsteps.

Your eyes blink awake to find chipping concrete of the hotel wall, groaning at the realization you would have to leave your sobering sleep.

“Sit up.” Mando pats on your back a little, just to get your attention until you roll over and face him, sitting up on your elbows and watching what he was doing.

He pulls out a dull-colored pack from the bag he was carrying, little sections of it sealed into shapes with a thin plastic that he ripped open, pouring the content into a tiny plate filled with water. He pushes the powder that fell out around a bit, handing it to you once it started to swell.

It was bread. At least it looked like bread and tasted like bread when you ripped off a piece to try.

Mando pulls something else out of the bag, something round that fills the palm of his hand; its color is an obnoxious yellow, that almost glows against the grey room.

He pulls out one of his blades and slices it open, handing you a wedge of white-colored fruit.

“What's this?” You ask, bringing it to your nose.

It smelled sweet, dripping down your hand and sticky like syrup between your fingers.

“Food.” He stated simply, cutting the rest of it into more wedges he laid on the table. “It's good. I promise.”

It almost melts in your mouth, sweet and potent almost like the candies you sometimes find in the bazaar. You hum a little, taking turns biting into the fruit and then bread. Mando doesn’t join your makeshift meal, he instead grabs his rifle that had been strapped on his back and cleans it. Sitting just a couple feet away from you on the other side of the bed, quietly taking it apart and inspecting it like he always does.

Something about his mood sours in your mouth, making it hard to swallow any more of the food he brought you.

You bite the bullet and decide not to let anything fester longer than it needed to.

“Are you angry with me?”

He pauses as if he had to think about his answer.

“No.”

He sounded quiet, almost meek when he spoke the words, hardly convincing you that he wasn’t upset. You try to ignore the feeling, the swelling of emotion that buzzed between the two of you, tension being pulled so tight it threatened to break with the simplest motion. You look down at your hands, trying to distract yourself from the sudden urge to run as far as your legs would take you.

“You have to let it go.” Mando blurted out, turning on an instant and standing up in front of you.

He is careful, choosing words full of bite, scolding you through the grit of his teeth. “You did the right thing.”

Did the right thing?

“I’m not like you, Mando.”

You can feel the anger simmering, bubbling over as it spread across your chest, making your lungs feel tight as you sought for breath. He scoffs, and you know it shouldn't hurt as much as it does. He probably thinks so little of you, you’re just a small, dumb girl you couldn’t keep her emotions in check. It hurts. It hurts to think he holds you in such low regard, but you couldn’t imagine any other way.

Maybe you would never understand Mando’s world, and sometimes each day was a reminder that you didn’t belong in it.

“What were you supposed to do?” He tilts his helmet to look at you, spitting words like venom in your direction. “Wait around until he shot you first?”

You feel so pathetic, staring at Mando through blurry vision until the culmination of your fear runs down the apples of your cheeks. Your lip trembles as you move to wipe your face, sniffling into your sleeve in hopes the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Mando moves in front of you, leaning down until his visor is almost level with you.

“You….are here.” He grips your arms, squeezing them to the point of hurt as he makes you focus on him. “That's what's important. You survived.”

You sob again, squeezing your eyes shut and shaking your head.

You know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reacted. Somehow you just wish you could rewrite it all together, as if there was any scenario that wouldn't end in one of you dead.

“Do you think I let just anyone come even close to seeing my face?”

Mando brings your attention back to him, kneeling so you look at him now.

“I never-” Your voice feels coarse, foreign as you try to speak, worried that Mando ever thought you would break his trust like that.

“I know.” He cuts you off, speaking softer than you think you’ve ever heard him.

“I knew that if you promised me you wouldn't look, you would never break it.”

Everything was fuzzy, part of you convinced you had fallen asleep and this was a dream. Nothing but your imagination. It’s the only place moments like this seemed to exist; moments few and far in between and held such a special place in your lonely, bleeding heart.

“That is the kind of person you are.”

You searched his face, with nothing to be found except the cold stare of his helmet; the only face Mando had ever let you know.

“You are kind and...a little naive,”

Just say it.

“You are trustworthy,”

Just say it.

“You work hard and get the job done,”

Just say it.

“Whether or not you believe it, I think the Crest would fall apart without you.”

He takes a moment like he's lost his breath, his head turns to the side, away from you as if the dirty corner of this hotel held all the answers.

Please, just say it.

“You are important.” …..to me.

He won't say it, he can't. And sometimes it feels like he never will.

“So his life was less valuable than mine?” You croak, tears drying on your face.

You were drowning and Mando was trying so hard to pull you out, to give you the hand you needed to save yourself.

“Yes, it was.” His tone dropped, his words pointed and almost stinging. “I’d put a hole through every person in this city before I'd let something happen to you.”

Don’t-

“Mando-”

Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.

“Mando you can't say things like that.”

You felt it crawling up your throat, dread and anger and longing you had been pushing away for far too long, about to burst behind your eyelids at Mando’s command.

“Why not?”

He sounded almost angry, releasing your arms as he stood up again, turning away from you and bracing himself against the wall.

You watched him collect himself, perched on the edge of the bed and waiting for what he’d say.

The room felt stiff all of a sudden, the kind of awkward taste left behind that made you recoil a little.

The regret was hard to ignore, it played out like a cheap holo-movie right in front of you, screeching and annoying just like every cheesy one you had been forced to watch as a kid.

“We don’t ever have to talk about this again.” You offer, playing with the ends of your tunic to busy yourself.

He doesn’t answer you, he doesn’t even move. He barely breaths enough for you to notice the rise and fall of his shoulders.

You eventually stop waiting for him, turning over and laying on the bed facing away from him. He finally moves, turning his head to look at you over your shoulder with words caught on the tip of his tongue. You ignore him, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping he’d leave you alone long enough for you to get more rest.

Without another word, he leaves, the metal door slamming shut behind him.

-

You could barely make out the outline of Mando’s silhouette, slivers of shine reflecting his beskar poke out against the darkness.

The early hours of the morning, just the barest hints of light coming through the tinted skylight. Your body was shivering, woken up by the chill that settled over your skin until you burrowed deeper into the thin blankets. Mando slept at the foot of your bed, slumped against a worn chair pushed against the opposite wall with his arms across his chest.

Part of you knew it was a bad idea, but anything done to stop you from freezing to death sounded like a good option.

“Mando?”

You pull the blanket with you, still wrapped around your body, containing the only heat you felt in this entire room.

“Mando?” You try a little louder, and Mando’s head jerks awake, looking around until his visor lands on you, kneeling at the end of the bed.

“Why are you awake?” He flexes his hands, the leather groaning under the strain as he rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder.

“Why-” You almost regret waking him up.

Maybe it would've been better to leave things as they were. No need to pour salt in a proverbial wound that tore through what little relationship you had.  
But you never really made the best decisions.

“Why don't you lay down?”

You pat the space beside you like he was some stray animal you needed to coax into trusting you. You hoped you would just be enough, that you could get him to forget the tension between the two of you, that he could indulge you like he always did.

“Go back to sleep.” He turns his head away from you, looking towards the door on the other side of the room.

Persistent should be your middle name.

“Please?”

The concrete is cold, brushing the tips of toes as you lower them from the bed; the soles of your feet sting when you stand at the edge of your mattress.

“I'm cold.”

You're pouting. Or guilting. Maybe both.

The blanket slips from your shoulder, the air around you crisp and freezing with the early morning. The four walls surrounding you like paper, the weather seeping through a cracking foundation.

You walk closer in his direction, your hand feeling in front of you for the moment you'd reach his chair. He still doesn't say anything, he hardly moves; you'd almost believe he had fallen asleep again if it hadn't been for the gentle twitch of his cuirass, his breaths sharp and choppy as they filter through his helmet.  
Your hand finally finds him, wrapping your hand around his vambrace until you get your footing, your thighs brushing the tips of his fingers and your feet against the side of his boot.

You hadn't realized how close you'd be, leaning on the arm of the chair where he sat completely still, running one of your fingers over the rough cloth covering his arm.

“I miss you.”

He grabs your wrist, holding you in a firm grip as he pulls you closer, maneuvering you through the dark until you stand in front of him. Your legs are wobbly, your stance fumbling as he pulls you even closer, your thighs sliding against the armor he still wore as he perches you on top of his lap.  
You feel him shift beneath you, setting his legs wider to hold you better; his hands guiding your hips until your bellies meet, held against each other with his vice grip.

“Are you looking at me?” You inquire, finding the edges of his helmet and run your fingers along with the dents of his cheeks, dragging your fingers as if it were his skin beneath them.

“I'm always looking at you, sweet girl.”

You squeal as he lifts you, quicker than you can react, he's got you partially thrown over his shoulder. You kick a little out of reflex, his arms moving to hold your legs down to his chest so he could bend, tossing you on the bed a bit more forceful than he needed to. The frame feels like it's gonna break underneath you, squeaking loudly with old springs giving way to your combined weights. He's on top of you before you can sit up, falling back onto the sheets and spreading your legs as he lay in between them.

He covers most of your body, your legs and arms the only thing he didn't pin beneath his entire weight. The beskar adds so much, you can feel the air get knocked out of your lungs as he settles on top of you, caging your head between his arms.

“No,” You huff out a whine, trying to squirm out from under him but failing.

“What's wrong?” You can hear it reverberate through his chest, laughing at your frustrated groan. “Thought this was what you wanted?”

He was so much warmer. The beskar held a sting to it, but it eventually melted into the rest of your exposed skin. You couldn't imagine what it was like to wear his armor, fully covered in the thick, uncomfortable underclothes. The heat just radiated off of him, through his layers till his chest and neck felt hot to the touch as your hands held onto him.

“I guess I am warm.”

You give up, your head lulling back against the thin pillow at the head of the bed. He somehow gets heavier as he relaxes, pushing you harder into the mattress until you curse at him. His helmet is directly in front of your face, cold and pressed against your cheek as the face of his helmet nuzzled into your shoulder.

“Comfy?” You ask, hoping he can hear your irritated tone through a whisper.

He just grunts, whether it was a yes or no, you didn’t care too much.  
You try to accept your fate, lying limp and defeated under Mando and waiting for the gracious moment he’d get up. But you don’t notice it at first, Mando’s legs shifting every so slightly. Back and forth in the same slow rhythm.

It feels so nice, too nice actually.

You try to hide from Mando, turning your face away and pretending you’ve already fallen asleep. But Mando can hear your sighs, the way your hips twitch to follow along with him. He doesn’t need to look to know you’re awake.

You finally give in and shift your hips up to meet his, rubbing your clothed cunt directly on the tent in his pants. You almost moan from how good it feels, your eyes shooting open and your head falling back, but it’s only for a second.  
He stops when he feels you moving, completely still above you while he panted in your ear.

“Stop moving.” He ordered, waiting until you felt limp again and just laid underneath him.

He was throbbing in no time, hard and feeling heavenly as he dragged over your clothed pussy. Your hands reach for him when he thrusts harder, the bed squeaking from the force of it as you claw at him, your fingers sliding pitifully against the beskar plate on his back.

You moan outwardly now, feeling rubbed raw from the constant back and forth of the rough outer layers of your clothes, but it's heaven all the same. Mando is grunting in your ear, one of his hands sneaking its way into your hair and pulling roughly once he meets the base of your skull.

“Please, Mando.” You moan, turning your head till your lips are at his ears, mouthing against the cold surface of his helmet.

He sits up abruptly, your pants by the waist, and pulling them down your legs, you shuffle until both legs are off the rest of the way and he tosses them behind him. He undoes the ties of his pants, shoving them down his hips enough so he can take himself in hand.

He jerks his cock in slow motions, pushing his hand up your torso until your tunic is bunched up above your breasts.

“Fuck, you're beautiful.” Mando groans as he twists his fist over the head of his cock, working the sensitive tip over and over in the same leather on his palm.

You squirm a little, partially pinned down by Mando’s hand still pressed on your sternum. He picks one of your tits to squeeze, cursing as he rolls your nipple until it buds.

You watch him, your face hot as Mando fucked his fist, your name tumbling through the low rumble of his voice coder.

“Mando?” You plead, trying your best to rub your hips against any part of him you could reach.

His hand slams against your jaw, taking by surprise as he squeezes your cheeks, telling you to open them.

“I don't think you earned it, sweet girl.”

He slides his fingers into your mouth, your tongue already swirling over the worn leather, tasting like him as he fucks them in and out of your mouth.

You moan around his fingers, putting on a show as if it actually were his cock; hoping that somewhere behind all the beskar he could see you, that he was watching. He shoved them one final time down your throat, choking you a little before he pulled them away, still connected to you through a string of saliva.

“You wanna feel good?” He asks, his voice rough and strained as he pumped his cock one more time.

You breathe out a yes and his hand comes up to muffle your mouth, holding you down as he shifts your hips to his liking. He lines his cock up with your cunt, sitting between your pretty lips as he watches you squirm for friction.

The first thrust comes as a surprise, the head of his cock dragging up and down your folds and bumping your clit. You hum against his mouth as he rocks a little faster, catching your bud with every push of his hips.

You've soaked his cock, it practically drips out of you from how worked up you’d gotten. He's got you under his thumb, arching your back and moaning pitifully underneath him while you're completely at his mercy.

The bed is squeaking again, rocking slowly every time he hits his hips against yours, groaning out curses until he stops suddenly. You felt his cum pumping out onto the coarse hairs of your mound, a growl leaving his lips that you felt shoot up your spine and bloom in your chest.

He slows his breathing, rubbing his cock against your cunt a few more times, before sitting back on his calves to look at you. His hand leaves your mouth and you sit up on your elbows watching him as both his hands grope your thighs.

His gloves run along your skin, traveling to your pussy so he can cup it with one of his hands. His thumb runs along your hairs, rubbing his cum over your mound until it was sticky on your skin. He hums as he looks back up at you, seeing you had been watching him the whole time.

“We gotta go soon.” He pats the side of your thigh, moving away to get off the bed. “Get dressed.”

-

The restock didn't take very long.

Mando picked out supplies from the guild's reserve and they had been loaded rather quickly; new crates full of rations, medical supplies, and a few new tools.

You don't remember asking him for those but you don't think it matters much.

Everything gets sorted into its proper place, you empty each of the crates and stack them neatly in the corner for the next time you go to Nevarro. Mando is moving around the hull, having already put the ship on auto-pilot he finds his own tasks to do. It’s mostly silence. The kind that you were used to when it came to Mando. Expected.

Mando seems on edge for some reason, like he needed busy work to get through a day like he needed to not think for a few hours. You get it. But you just leave him be, deciding to chip away at the long list of things you keep noticing needing to be tidied up.

You pull the spare tool kit from one of the shelves, finding a stack of crates tall enough to sit it on so you can get to work. Everything is dumped out in front of you to be sorted, polishing things here and there as they need them. You count each of the tools as you separate them, a little game you taught yourself that helps you keep track of everything.

One. Two. Three. Then you push the pile to the far corners, away from any of the unsorted pieces.

It’s monotonous like most of your work, mind-numbing almost. You could spend hours counting everything on Mando’s ship and not bat an eyelash.

You can’t hear Mando anymore so you assume he had left you, the only sound in the hull is the clink of each tool you counted and the comments you sometimes made under your breath.

You turn away from your little organizing venture when you notice something looming in the corner of your eye.

Mando was putting something on your bed, a bundle of something grey tied together with a thick, black belt.

He stops when he notices you looking, slowly standing back to his full height and gesturing for you to take a look.

“Do you like it?” He asks as you run your fingers over the wool, feeling the slight itch of the fabric over your palm.

“Mando you didn't have to do this.”

“I know,” He huffs, craning his head to the side and tilting his helmet up, away from you. “I just thought you deserved something nice. You know, for all the hard work you do.”

You mumbled out a thank you, feeling your face get hot as you realized what he had done for you. Turning to direct your attention anywhere else, your feet move of their own accord, keeping your back facing him until you heard him ascend the ladder to the cockpit. You don’t know if you could look at him again, not now while your chest was still burning with heat that filled your mind with curiosity.

You left his gift sitting gingerly on the foot of your cot, only deciding to undo the ties once you were deep into hyperspace. The materials were soft, warm wool that was gentle on your skin and was probably expensive, especially on a place like Nevarro; it was unlike anything you had ever owned. You couldn't help the sigh you felt at the extra cushion against your back, finally feeling relief that blossomed at the base of your spine.

You're drifting by the time you hear Mando, coming down the ramp and stopping in front of the closet he uses for a bed. He's removing his armor, piece by piece you can hear them thumping against the thin bedding. His hands are cold as they pull at your blankets, brushing against your bare legs and making you jerk away from him, pressed as close as you can get to the wall and away from him.

“Can't sleep?”

Mando’s propped up on one of his elbows, looking down as you try, but fail to cocoon yourself in the blankets, his voice is hoarse even without the filter of his helmet.

“I think I've slept too much.” You huff, giving up on your pull to steal back your warmth.

Mando pulls on your shoulder, moving you to turn around in his arms; one arm underneath your head and the other hand holding you by the back of your neck.

You can’t see much, maybe the faint silhouette of his body if you focused hard enough, only noticeable because of the dim emergency lights bolted into the floor.

“You'll be alright.” Mando hums, his lips pressed to your hairline while he breathes you in.

Mando had never expressed much sympathy. And while most wouldn't consider his tone to be sympathetic, you could tell it was his best efforts. Something to be considered at least.

You can't explain this feeling with Mando. The bliss of being so close to someone while knowing it only exists for these few short hours. It almost feels real sometimes, like there was something that actually lived between the two of you. You saw it in him today but figured tomorrow you'd wake to find it gone, precious moments falling between your open fingers like sand.

He finally stops teasing you, his hand slipping below the waist of your underwear, and holding nothing back.

He doesn’t make you beg, he gives everything to you, wanting you to show exactly how you wanted him. His fingers brush over your cunt and you jerk into his hand, following him until he pressed them directly over your clit. You gush when his fingers push into you, rough and hard against your soft skin with just the right amount of pressure. He drags them slowly in and out, trapping your sensitive bud under his thumb and rubbing in time with his fingers.

“You’ve been so good for me.”

He lets you use him, grinding your hips into his hand as stars burst behind your eyelids. Words of praise pour for his lips as he moans at the taste of you, sucking them dry before returning them to circle your clit.

“My sweet girl.”

He kisses you with the final tremor that rocks through you, slow and sweet like warm honey that laid hot on your tongue. You moan into his mouth as he licks and sucks at your lips, muffling your sounds while he shushes you. His hand slips out of your underwear, his wet fingers resting on your belly as he slows the kiss, eventually pulling away to nuzzle your cheek.

“Does it ever get easier?” You ask the question that’s been looming, finally catching your breath as you laid with him.

His head turns as if he's looking down at you, strained from the angle and searching for your face in the dark hull.

“What?”

You can feel Mando rub against the pulse of your neck, the thumb that still held your neck swiping back and forth in its own rhythm.

“Killing people?”

You feel Mando stiffen, his hands sliding away from you and sighing as his limbs get heavy.

“No.” He grumbles, his voice cracking with the heavy breath filling his chest. “It doesn't.”

He brushes some of your hair out of your face, patting your cheek before turning to lay on his back.

“Go to sleep.”


End file.
